


you're my crutch (when my legs stop moving)

by dormant_bender



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Awkward Boners, Banter, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Football | Soccer, Injury Recovery, M/M, One Shot, Swearing, Timeline What Timeline, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 19:53:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6390982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dormant_bender/pseuds/dormant_bender
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>because even when one falls, the other is always there to pick them up once more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're my crutch (when my legs stop moving)

**Author's Note:**

> i just .. i don't even.
> 
> take away laptop, por favor.

Marc was known for being level-headed unlike most of the people in his life, who allowed their anger to overwhelm them, the words spitting from their mouths stirring more trouble than resolve. With that being said, he hadn't foreseen today coming and if he had, he would have mentally prepared and meditated. Because what he had seen earlier on the pitch had, had him more than fuming.

-

After an anticipated recovery, the Brazilian was more than eager to get out on the pitch, even being added to the starting line-up because he had insisted on showing his worth. Of course a few of his teammates, especially Marc, had fought against the decision that he should remain on the bench until the coast was clear instead of irritating his knee further.

As headstrong as the brunet was, however, he refused the pleas and reassures the lads that things would be okay; or so he had thought until the sixty-fifth minute where he was laid out across the grass, hands grasping desperately at his knee. 

Russet legs had propelled him further upon the grass as he chases their opponent who currently had possession of the ball, dribbling it down the field, until the two were present at the goal. Chocolate eyes slide to Marc, whose own eyes were focused on the ball that inched closer and closer towards him. But as always the Brazilian had confidence in the blond, knowing he was more than capable of defending them from a goal. 

But the glance he had spared had proved futile because as he ran towards the ball, kicking a leg out to send it away from the player, another had tackled him from behind. The other's leg kicked into the back of his ailed one and he's sent tumbling to the ground in a heap, a boisterous cry erupting from his lips, as his hands desperately claw at his knee.

Marc, who had witnessed the scene, allotted the ball in as he jogged as fast as his muscular legs could take him until he reaches the two males that are quickly being surrounded. The perpetrator scoffs, murmuring lowly in Spanish that he was clearly faking, when Marc furrows his brows.

"Hey, you." Marc spits harshly as he crowds the male, pairs of hands grasping at the back of his jersey as he does so, but he ignores them. "Watch where you're going next time.."

A brow is quirked in response to his warning and the male only chuckles with a shake of his head as he places his hands upon his waist, scowling down at the wounded Brazilian: "He's faking, I didn't do a thing." 

"You fucking tackled him, what are you even talking about?" Marc retorts and grasps at his blond locks, the man spits in his general direction, and hands are vigorously grasping at his jersey once more as the blond utters a harsh, "What's up?"

And like that the perpetrator is towed away by his teammates, whispers of apology being spewed their way, before Marc finds himself on his knees, cradling the back of the Brazilian's head. Sweat trickles from his hair to coat his brow as he glances up into those impossibly blue eyes. One of his hands abandons his knee in favor of grasping for the pale hand that is offered to him, and like that the blond tugs him to his feet and the fans around them cheer.

Rafinha wraps an arm around Marc's shoulder, burying his face there as he's righted and lifting weight from his injured knee, tears mixed with sweat staining his jersey. "Finally, after all this time, I'm back and this happens.." Breathes the Brazilian as he's torn from the German who only offers him a shaky, reassuring smile as the benched teammates help Rafinha back, the male being substituted in with Sergi Roberto.

"Everything will be okay," Marc mouths to the Brazilian that is casting a glance over his shoulder at him, a russet hand lifting toward the blond and a single thumb raising as if to say: 'you got this.'

-

When it came to the brunet, everything was serious and suddenly in perspective. After a long recovery process and strengthening training, he was finally allowed to rejoin the team, and bruising his knee on the first day back had been his welcoming. Thin lips quirk downward into a frown at just the thought as he collects ice into a washcloth, returning toward the latter's room where he lays sprawling on the bed with one pillow supporting his head and the other raising his knee.

A small, melancholy smile graces his lips as he graciously accepts the frigid cloth, the sound of the ice clinking together. "Thanks.." murmurs the male as he applies pressure to the bruised area that is darkened in a deep purple color.

Marc only nods in response as he lowers himself onto the bed, fingers splaying within the latter's damp locks. He isn't sure what to say or whether he should apologize for the way he had acted on the pitch, so he instead remains silent as he works at combing the male's hair back with his digits. Eventually it's slicked back and the brunet glances up at him, pursing his lips tightly together.

"It's okay, Ter." Rafinha eventually speaks as he removes the cloth to prod gingerly at the tender spot on his knee.

Marc frowns at that and leans forward to swat his hand away, wagging his finger in a scolding way: "Stop that, don't touch it, Rafa." Hisses the male as he straightens back up to tangle his fingers back in damp locks, "and it's not okay."

Rafinha heaves a sigh as he applies pressure to his knee once more, the frigid ice practically numbing the skin there. "I know you're pissed about what happened, but I'm saying you don't have to be... I mean, it was my fault. I shouldn't have gone out there, I should have listened."

"It wasn't your fault and you know it!" Marc's voice suddenly raises and his head shakes on its own accord in disapproval as he shifts his hand so it gingerly cups the latter's cheek, thumb brushing along the smooth skin there: "It was that bastard's fault, not yours. If he wouldn't have kicked you like that you wouldn't—this wouldn't have happened and you'd be fine again and—.. You'd still be happy, like how you were before the game."

It's the brunet's turn to furrow his brows now as he gazes up into the cerulean eyes that refuse to meet his own. "That—.." And he winces before he can even properly utter the words. "It was probably an accident," he swiftly retorts as he rests a frigid palm against the hand upon his cheek, peeling it away and offering it a cold squeeze. "And who says I'm not happy anymore?"

But the male still doesn't glance his way even after his hand is taken. He, however, does maneuver his other hand to to cup the cool hand with both of his own, rubbing them against one other, in an attempt to bring warmth to his frigid fingers. "Are you, Rafa? Happy about this? How could you possibly be—"

"Shh," Fingers maneuver within the warmth until they successfully twine with seemingly sweltering digits, a soft sigh leaving his lips as the prickly sensation in his fingers dissipates. "I'm not happy about my knee, no. It took months to recover, and I'm never going through that again." Despite the severity of the situation, a small smile adorns his lips, eyes fluttering to a content close. "This right here, it's just a bruise, I could probably even play the next game. Plus, well—.. How could I not be sort of turned on by the way you were willing to fight that merdinha for hitting me?"

Cerulean eyes glance down at the words and he finds the latter's lids clenched tightly shut, though the small smile is still firmly in place. "Oh no, no, no.. There's no way I can let you go out on the pitch with a busted knee, not after what happened today.. All I ask is sitting out two more games, at least, before you go back out there." Murmurs the German in a protective, almost maternal tone as he strokes the pad of his thumb along the back of the Brazilian's hand. "How could you even be turned on at a time like that, Rafa?"

"Something about the way you say ' _que pasa_ ' is pretty sexy." Rafinha muses aloud with a soft snicker and his shoulders quake with the force of his laughter, until he winces and murmurs 'ow, ow ow.' But nonetheless he nods his head hesitantly, teeth sinking into his lower lip. "One more game, and then I'll be back. Deal."

A triumphant grin splays across his lips as he hears the words and he leans downward to place a chaste kiss to the very tip of his nose. "Good boy," he playfully regards which earns a growl from Rafinha who drops the cloth, ultimately spilling the ice onto the sheets, in favor of gripping the back of Marc's head to force him back down until he finds his lips. "Rafa—.. Nngh.." 

But his words die on his lips in the form of a moan as he feels a warm tongue prod against his lower lip, teeth nipping teasingly at the skin there, until he finally opens his mouth to allow him entry. Whatever logic that Rafinha was attempting to display was unbeknownst to the blond but he couldn't fight any logic that had to do with the way the very tip of the brunet's tongue was gliding along the roof of his mouth.

But all too soon he's withdrawing from the kiss with a hiss as he shifts his leg upon the pillow, "You're always looking out for me and get worried over the littlest of things, Marquinho." Rafinha scolds with a click of his tongue as he settles a hand upon the latter's pale thigh, offering it a pat which is preceded by a warm squeeze. "That's my way of showing you that I'm okay, and am still capable of kissing you until you're confused."

"Wait, what—? What does that have to do with your inju—Whatever." Marc murmurs to himself as he abandons his spot on the bed to crawl to the bottom where the latter's legs are located. Pale fingers prod along the injured area, eyes noting the wince, before he gingerly kneads the tense muscle there. "Tell me if it hurts okay? I'll take care of you, even if you complain every second of it."

"I'm not really worried about that aspect," hums the brunet as he props himself up on his elbows to watch the administrations. "I'm more worried about popping an embarrassing boner from you touching m-me—.. That feels really, really good.." Moans the brunet as he allows his form to fall back against the pillows, slinging an arm over face to shield it from the latter's view.

"Never really gotten or given a leg massage before, so I'm not really sure if it's boner-worthy material or not." Marc teases lightheartedly in an attempt to lighten the mood an ounce more than the tense one that started the conversation in the first place. "Though I guess if it were the other way around and it was you touching me, I could probably understand." Fingers continue to work on the tense muscles, the pads of his thumbs pressing into a taut ball of tension near his calf, making the brunet grunt.

"Is that your way of saying that every time I touch you, you get hard? Regardless of the where?" Rafinha removes the arm for a fraction of a second to glance down at Marc, who only smirks in response, pointed teeth glinted in the lamp light from the nightstand. "It is, isn't it? Menino travesso," he's scolding once more.

But Marc doesn't speak for a moment as he bows to press a warm, tender kiss to the wounded area. "What can I say? Have you ever met yourself?" Rafinha rolls his eyes and murmurs in low Portuguese at his words, "see? Then you have no idea what you're like, how you look, how good it feels even when we're just holding hands." Once more he bows to press another kiss to his the side of his calf, fingers working down the taut muscle, offering it a gentle squeeze.

A less than masculine squeak echoes from Rafinha and Marc can see the scarlet that stains his russet skin as he hardens within the loose shorts he adorns, thighs shifting uncomfortably as he does so. "Don't you dare say a thing, Marquinho, or I swear I will never go down on you again." 

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Rafa." Marc cheekily responds as he continues with his administrations before his hands shift to his uninjured leg, repeating the same treatment. 

"Meu deus, even when you're being a sap, it's still somehow sexy." Rafinha whines low in his throat as he spares another glance at the blond who is smiling fondly up at him, offering him a playful wink.

But Marc doesn't speak this time, however, as he continues the administrations that alternate between gentle squeezes and applied pressure as well as tender pecks here and there along the length of exposed skin. Soon he feels the muscle within his legs loosen completely and he grins in triumph as he releases his leg only to receive an ungrateful growl from Rafinha.

Instead he climbs up within the bed to lay beside the male, reaching a hand for the latter's and holding it tightly. Rafinha offers his hand a squeeze, and Marc echoes the action with a squeeze of his own. Marc glances in his direction and finds the Brazilian already gazing upon him, a flushed and broad grin already firmly in place.

"You should probably put your magic hands to better use," Rafinha quips with a devious smirk plastering across his lips as he glances down towards where his shorts are still tented.

And like that, Marc snorts, but is always eager to oblige.

**Author's Note:**

> someone please stop me. i'm literally writing new one-shots everyday. 
> 
> I NEED A LIFE JFC ; but feed my addiction and lemme know if you wanna see something specific with these two ? x3
> 
> (( and yes, i've been re-winding the gif of ter stegen saying "que pasa!?" to that one guy xD ))


End file.
